


Stormy Weather

by engine



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, girl!gokudera, they're both 16/17ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2019-09-28 19:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17189411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engine/pseuds/engine
Summary: She counts the seconds before the door opens. Yamamoto stares; five more seconds. He opens his mouth but flounders for words, and his eyes clearly can’t decide what to focus on."You're an idiot," she says, pushing some hair from her face. He blinks, stupidly, but that’s normal. "And I sort of love you. Can I come in?"





	Stormy Weather

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on LJ.

The rain makes Hayato’s hair heavy on her back. Her clothes stick uncomfortably to her skin, but it’s summer, and the water’s warm. The walk wasn't unbearable, although by the time she reaches the small, two story building, she’s completely soaked. She squints up at the windows on the second floor, blinking rain off her eyelashes, then walks slowly up the door and rings the bell.

She counts the seconds before the door opens. Yamamoto stares; five more seconds. He opens his mouth but flounders for words, and his eyes clearly can’t decide what to focus on.

"You're an idiot," she says, pushing some hair from her face. He blinks, stupidly, but that’s normal. "And I sort of love you. Can I come in?"

To his credit, it only takes a few more seconds for him to come to his senses and grab her wrist. He drags her inside, a small bell tinkling behind them as the door swings shut. Before they can get any further into the shop, Hayato grabs the front of his shirt (baseball jersey, _of course_ , she notes) and tugs him down for a kiss. It's awkward at first, suffering from both a bad angle and a confused participant, but then it settles into something that makes Hayato cling tightly to Yamamoto.

"My dad," Yamamoto finally manages to say, and Hayato scowls. "No, no, just, my dad, he told me to watch the shop, and he'll kill me if it's covered in water." He smiles sheepishly. Hayato scowls more. "And I love you too. I always have," Yamamoto says with a bit of a laugh. "You're sort of amazing, and—" But she doesn't let him finish, and instead drags him up the stairs to the house before he can say anything sappier.

She allows him to fuss, and make her change out of her clothes and into an absurdly large t-shirt. She refuses the shorts; they won't stay on her hips without her holding them up. Yamamoto hangs her clothes over the bathtub, trying his hardest not to stare as she wrings her hair out over the sink.

"You can look, you know," she says, deftly pulling her hair back into a ponytail. He flushes, gaze flicking between her shoulder, peeking out of the collar of the shirt, and her legs. "I won't punch you. Although, I'm tempted. Stop being a fucking tool."

Through the mirror, she stares at him, staring at her. He clears his throat; she rolls her eyes.

"Come on," she says finally, grabbing his hand. He stumbles after her into his bedroom, and she pushes him down on his futon. To his credit, she thinks again, staring down at him, he does have an erection. At least he's not completely incompetent.

Hayato straddles his hips, and Yamamoto makes a sort of choked off groan, hesitantly resting his hands on her waist. She smirks, pressing down a little, glad when his hands tighten. He watches her, eyes wide, as if he's not really sure this is actually happening.

"So," she says, resting her hands on his chest. "When you think about this," she pushes down, and almost laughs at his wince, "what do you do to me?"

Yamamoto swallows heavily again, but his eyes flick down briefly to her chest.

The smirk has settled on her face. "What are you waiting for, then? A written invitation?"

He furrows his eyebrows; hesitates; then his hands trail up her body, over the shirt. His thumbs trace her ribs, over the edge of her still-damp bra, over the swell of her breasts. She hums, pleased, as he cups one, almost in awe. There’s plenty of time; if he wants to carefully explore, she'll let him.

His hands trail back down to her waist, curve over her hips, then slip under the shirt. He swallows as his hands hit skin, and she hums again, arching her back as his hands slide over skin. They're warm, leaving her nerves electrified as he explores the planes of her stomach, her back, her spine. He finally tugs the shirt over her head, letting it drop onto the floor. Hayato is distinctly aware that Yamamoto's gaze is bordering on rapturous, but she carefully ignores that, instead tugging on his shirt and practically tearing it off his body in kind.

She knows what he looks like; she was dragged to enough baseball practices against her will in the past. But it still makes her heart speed up, heat rushing to her cheeks before she can force on a veneer of impassivity. It makes him smile though, and he sits up so she's seated in his lap. He trails fingers lightly over her cheek before leaning in to kiss her. He's smiling, which makes it difficult, so she pinches his shoulder before wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him close. Her other hand drifts along his skin, following the muscles that hint at the man he will one day be.

They kiss until Hayato is gasping for breath, pink high in her cheeks. Yamamoto's hands move to the clasps of her bra, and she nods; he manages to undo it with minimal difficulty, which is so disgustingly in character that she has to laugh, even as she shrugs it off and tosses it the way of their shirts. He kisses under her chin, down her neck, on her collarbone; he pauses, one hand secure on her lower back, the other hovering.

She rolls her eyes, and pulls his hand to cover her breast. Yamamoto chokes again, but adapts quickly to the new situation, brushing her nipple with his thumb, and finally ducking down, pressing kisses almost everywhere he can reach. She rolls her eyes again but smiles, running a hand through his hair and arching her back when he nips at sensitive skin, breath coming out in a sigh.

Yamamoto groans against her chest, resting his forehead against her and breathing heavily, his hips pressing back against her against his will. She tugs at his face and pulls him up for another kiss.

"Gimme your hand," she says, and takes his wrist, moving it down between her legs. Her underwear is nearly dry from the rain, but uncomfortably wet for completely different reasons, and she moans as she presses his hand against her. Yamamoto stares; Hayato wonders how she can keep him from zoning out like this every time, and hopes he gets better. With practice, of course.

She's caught off guard by his hand slipping under the fabric of her panties and yelps. He looks up at her for reassurance, but he's laughing a little, so she just scowls and grinds down on his hand, eyelids fluttering.

"What," he says, slightly out of breath, "what do you need me to do?"

And he sounds so earnest that for a moment she forgets to frown, and can only stare at him in surprise, and then smile, reaching down to adjust his hand. His thumb brushes against her clit and she shudders, so he does it again, rubbing his thumb against her and watching her face. She presses down against his hand, sighing, and one of his fingers teases against her, pressing inside just the slightest bit. She moans, and he kisses the side of her mouth, his other hand supporting her lower back.

"Just like that," she manages to say, voice barely above a whisper as she rides his hand. "God, why are you so fucking good at _everything_?"

He laughs, just a soft exhalation, before kissing her again. Her nails dig into his shoulders as she kisses back, heat curling low in her stomach before her muscles tighten, and she slumps blissfully against him.

Yamamoto blinks, confused for a moment before realization of what just happened hits him like a sack of bricks, and then he moans. "I just," he says, staring down at where his hand is still pressed against her. "I mean, you just--"

"Yeah," she says, and nips at his lip before climbing off his lap on unsteady legs to shimmy out of her underwear. "And now you're gonna 'just', you moron." She straddles his thighs again, deftly undoing his jeans and tugging them down along with his boxers in one quick motion. He swallows heavily and then groans when she takes him in her hand, his head falling back against the futon.

Hayato supposes it’s slightly more straightforward with guys, but she still gauges his reactions carefully. She isn't exactly as gentle as she could be, but judging by the way Yamamoto drags a hand down his face and moans, she supposes he really doesn't mind. She figures that she’ll _also_ improve with practice.

He comes in short order, unable or unwilling to prolong the moment. He lies bonelessly beneath her, arm thrown over his eyes and chest heaving, so she takes the moment to wipe him off with his shirt, before laying down next to him, curving her body against his.

"You probably shouldn't sleep with your jeans on," she says helpfully, before nipping at his jaw. He makes an incoherent sound. "I've heard it chafes."


End file.
